Authors: Virginia Brown
Dixie Divas (24 page)
“As opposed to showing up at my door and abducting me?”
“Be fair, Trinket. I only did that once, and it was a long time ago.”
“I was in my pajamas at a party where everyone else was wearing clothes!”
“If I’d known you hadn’t
meant
to dress like that, I’d have said something. It was a Come As You Are party. I thought you knew that.”
“And if I’d known that, of course I would have worn my ratty old teddy bear pajamas with the big rip in the rear seam where everyone could—and did—see my panties.”
“Honestly, sometimes you have the longest memory for the worst things.”
“That’s so history won’t repeat itself.”
Bitty sighed. “Anyway, it’ll be a chance to see Easthaven since the doctor bought it, to see if he’s done anything new. He’s very nice, and cute, in a rough, dangerous sort of way.”
“A dangerously rough podiatrist? That has to be a professional drawback.”
“Well, it’s only a tattoo, and I only saw it once, when he’d rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands before examining my feet.”
“Bitty Hollandale, you have no shame. There’s not a thing wrong with your feet.”
“Well, I know that
now
.”
I rolled my eyes. No point in trying to shame Bitty. It was too exhausting and very nearly impossible.
“I’m tired and I’m going to bed, Bitty,” I said. “It’s been a stressful day.”
“Oh honey, I never thought of you still worrying about Aunt Anna and Uncle Eddie. You know they’ll be just fine. You should have come home and taken a nap, rested up, got your mind off it by walking the dog or something.”
“Yes,” I said, thinking of the past two hours, “That’s exactly what I should have done.”
When we hung up, I looked over at Brownie sitting on the couch beside me, and I set the cordless phone down on the end table. He looked so sweet and harmless lying there. But I knew the truth.
“Come on, you little fraud,” I said, “it’s bedtime. And I hope you don’t wake me up in the middle of the night with a Metamucil meltdown.”
You’d think after the day I’d had, sleep would be instant and deep, but I tossed and turned most of the night. It could have been because I wasn’t used to sharing my bed with a dog rolled up in a blanket like an enchilada, but that was only part of it. Brownie, I’m happy to say, slept through the night with no digestive emergencies. Of course, I’d put up all jewelry, small metal objects, hairbrushes, and safety razors just in case he decided to have a midnight snack.
It was the murder and the missing Sanders that kept me awake. Most of the time. Other thoughts kept trying to sneak in, but I did a pretty good job of keeping them at bay. Still, right before I finally fell asleep, I had a brief flashback to the veterinary clinic and Dr. Coltrane. With any luck, I’d never see him again.
* * * *
“You look a little tired, Trinket,” Bitty said, “are you getting enough sleep?”
We sat in Budgie’s having coffee and blueberry cobbler. Bitty was armed with a pug, so we had to sit over in the smoking section that consisted of a metal screen and two tables. No one ever sat there. They smoked wherever they liked.
“It’s not the sleep, though more would help.” I pushed around a piece of crust and three blueberries left on my plate. Maybe I should start a diet. I already had to shop in the Tall section for clothes. Did I really want to shop in the Big and Tall section?
Bitty sighed. “I know. It’s all this worrying about the pilgrimage. I just wish Sanders had waited until he signed those papers before killing Philip and running off.”
I looked up at her. She was feeding Chitling a piece of pastry crust. The dog made sounds similar to those of a pig sniffing out truffles, but finally decided the crust was safe to eat.
“Bitty, do you
ever
think about the possibility of being convicted of murder?”
“Not really. Jackson Lee told me to let him think about that, so I do. Isn’t that right, you precious thing?”
The last was directed to the dog, of course.
“When are you taking that dog back to Luann Carey?”
“Soon. I talked to her this morning. She called to check up on Chen Ling, make sure she’s been eating right and taking her medicine. Luann’s very particular about who she lets take one of her dogs, you know. That girl will stand up to a two hundred pound man and give him what-for if she even thinks for a minute that any dog is being mistreated. I’ve seen her do it. Riley Simpson did, too. He kicked a skinny stray one day over by Phillips’ and Luann nearly took his head off. First time I’ve ever seen a two hundred pound man cower and run.”
“That can’t be true. Your second husband used to cower and run all the time.”
Bitty made a piffling sound. “That man couldn’t run. He got too fat to hardly walk. Only five-seven, and two-hundred-sixty-five pounds. It was like sleeping with Namu. Nemo? You know, the whale. And forget sex, unless I wanted to climb on top, but that was like riding a big old beach ball with a tiny little knob sticking up. Sometimes I had to turn on the light to find it.”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll lose my cobbler.”
“It does conjure up some awful images, doesn’t it?” Bitty looked up at me and smiled. “I still wouldn’t have divorced him if he hadn’t been so mean when he got sloshed. Bourbon seems to do that to some men. Makes their weenies limp, too. Try doing anything with
that
.”
I remembered Delbert Anderson quite differently, but of course, I hadn’t been married to him or even lived in Holly Springs during that marriage. There had been enough witnesses to attest to the fact that Del tended to get loud and boisterous when drunk, and also tended to lash out at whoever came within range. I understand there were photos of Bitty with black eyes and blue bruises. She got quite a nice settlement out of that divorce not to make a big fuss about it, and Del Anderson took what was left of his inheritance and skulked back to Sunflower County.
Desperate to change the subject, I said, “What are you wearing to the St. Patrick’s Day party?”
“Something green, of course, though that really isn’t my color. It’s more yours. I’ve got a floaty little dress that’s rose-colored, but it does have tiny green jewels that swirl up and over one shoulder, then down the back and on the skirt. That’ll do, don’t you think?”
I agreed, and when Bitty asked what I was wearing, I had to think. I have lots of pants and sweaters, blouses and jackets that are very nice, but my supply of party clothes is limited to a sheer bronze blouse worn with my black chiffon pants, or worn with my black chiffon skirt.
“Something green, of course,” I finally said. “I’ll put a ribbon in my hair.”
Bitty looked at me. “You don’t have anything to wear, do you. Well, that’s just not right. Come on. We’ll go right over to the Dress Barn and find something for you. Tina is excellent. I don’t know why she has that horrid name for her shop, when she has all those beautiful clothes made by Versace and Wang and Chanel in the back room. But then, I think the name was already there when she bought it, so she just left it. People get accustomed to things, you know, and change is always risky.”
Despite my protests, we ended up at the Dress Barn, where Tina, obviously a fashion maven, sized me up, measured me, clacked through a row of clothes hanging on a rack inside a closet that’d survive Armageddon, and pulled out a gorgeous dress that took my breath away. Not so much because it was absolutely stunning, but because the price tag was more than I’d made a month in my last job.
“Nonsense,” Tina said when I made a choking sound and backed away, “you’re very well proportioned. This will be lovely on you.”
I looked at her. Well-proportioned must have a new definition in the clothing industry than it does in fashion magazines and doctors’ offices. Granted, I have a nice-sized chest, but that’s just to balance out my generous hips and thighs so I won’t spin hopelessly around on my ample rear like one of those Weebles my daughter played with as a child. You know, a plastic toy person or animal shaped like an egg that never turns over because it’s bottom heavy. That’s me.
Before I knew quite how to get out a word since my lungs were depleted of air just looking at the price tag, Tina and Bitty had me stripped down to my cotton Hanes and sensible bra and poured into the dress. They stood me in front of a three-way mirror so my humiliation could be tripled, told me to open my eyes and stop being so silly, and then Tina—who’s much taller than Bitty and can manage it—pulled my hair up off my neck.
“So you can see the lovely way it drapes over your shoulders,” she explained. “Of course, you’ll wear a different bra with this. Or none at all.”
Already lightheaded from lack of oxygen, I nearly passed out at that last thought, so to shock myself back to consciousness, I looked in the mirror.
Was that
me
? A dark green thin velvet draped over my body down to my knees, where it flared out just a little bit in one of those diagonal hemlines that dip lower on one side than the other. The neckline scooped into a soft vee shape, it had long fitted sleeves, and designs in pale green swirled from one shoulder to waist and down one thigh to the knee. Somehow, it had the effect of being slimming while accenting my bosom and minimizing my thighs and hips. It’s amazing the deceptive packaging men can create and women can wear.
Bitty laughed. “She’s speechless. We’ll take it.”
“I love it,” I said, “but we won’t take it. I’d have to cash in my 401K.”
“Your birthday is in a few months. Consider this a gift,” Bitty said.
“No,” I said. “It’s too much. We don’t exchange gifts anymore, remember? We stopped doing that years ago.”
“Then it’s my treat. Consider it payment for all I’ve put you through lately.”
Tina wisely remained silent and didn’t offer any comments, though everyone in Holly Springs and Marshall County would know what Bitty meant by that.
“Payment is a free lunch, not a two thousand dollar dress, Bitty.”
“Now you listen to me, Trinket, in the first place, I get a hefty discount here, and in the second place, I don’t want you showing up at the party looking like Orphan Annie. It’s rude. And I have the money and want to do this, and you know one of the cardinal rules of courtesy is that one must know how to politely accept a gift.”
“But this is too much, Bitty.”
“Good Lord, Trinket, it’s not like I’m buying you Montrose or anything. Take the damn dress!”
“Fine. But I’m buying the shoes.”
Bitty smiled. See what I mean about her always getting her way?
Chapter Twelve
So there I was, two nights before Mama and Daddy got back from their cruise, decked out in a dress Joan Collins would love, complete with my emerald necklace that matches my emerald earring—the last in the singular, since Brownie either never passed the other earring or it’s still well-hidden for later consumption—and my new shoes, strappy, short-heeled sandals in a lovely warm gold that Bitty finally approved after accepting the fact I was not going to pay six hundred dollars for the shoes she wanted me to buy. We’d had to drive all the way to Memphis for them anyway, and I’d had enough of shopping with Bitty by then, as I think she had of me.
The night of the party, I met Bitty at her house, and instead of her sporty little Miata, we got into the larger black Mercedes she usually keeps in the garage for such occasions. It’s part of the settlement from her third husband, Franklin Kirby
Truth be told, I was a little nervous about going to this party. It wasn’t so much that I was shy or anything about meeting new people and seeing old acquaintances, or even that I felt like a complete fraud in a dress with a price higher than a cat’s back, but I’ve just never really been one for socializing with people who earn more in an hour than I do in a month. It’s the opposite of being a snob, I suppose. It’s not like I have an inferiority complex or anything, but what on earth can people from two such opposite poles have in common to discuss? The TV season getting shorter every year? Politics and religion are two definite no-nos. Not that I’m not fairly well-versed in such subjects, but it’s certain death to the festive mood of a party if guests begin to scream and sling canapés at each other.
Bitty, whose childhood was very different than mine because her mama came from an old money family, and her daddy went into their family business and made scads of money, was at home with these people. Not me. We weren’t poor, but neither did we always have new cars and trips to Europe. Or even ponies.
Anyway, my stomach was jittery and I hoped I was more composed than I looked when we pulled up in front of Easthaven, a four-columned white house on the fringe of Holly Springs. A valet came immediately to take Bitty’s car, and we got out and I sucked in a deep breath.
“I wish you’d have let me eat something before we got here,” I grumbled to Bitty.
“Honestly, Trinket, the days of Scarlett O’Hara are long past. There will be plenty of
h’or d’oeuvres
to nibble on, and besides, you don’t want your tummy sticking out in that dress. First impressions are important. You do look spectacular, by the way. Tina is always right.”
I felt spectacular, in a quivery, uneasy sort of way.
The interior of Easthaven definitely lived up to the promise of the exterior. Antiques filled every room, expensive carpets cushioned guests’ feet and covered glowing heart pine floors in plush designs, crystal chandeliers hung in several rooms, and stained glass transoms over tall double doors lent a lovely glow. Bitty was right. I’d have looked like Orphan Annie in my own clothes. These guests wore understated but expensive elegance like I wear comfortable jogging pants and sweatshirts.
Bitty introduced me to senators, doctors, lawyers, even a Holly Springs mayor or two. Past and present, I presumed. I had just managed to grab a crystal flute of excellent champagne from the silver tray of a passing waiter dressed in black, hoping we’d soon get to the table that held food, when Melody Doyle approached us, arm-in-arm with a smiling man of medium height and rather uneven good looks. He reminded me in one way of Ashley Wilkes—yes, another
Gone With the Wind
reference, this time to the movie—slender, slightly bookish looking, but like Bitty had noticed, with a definite edge. Maybe it was his eyes. Hazel, narrow, and close-set. But his smile was very nice. His pale hair swept to one side, and he wore it a little long.
